Orchid
by Wednesday Ghost
Summary: Some things are beautiful, and yet horrible. Blood on the snow, fallen angels, the sliver of silver that betrays in the dark. Harry had always thought this of Draco- beautiful, yet horrible. (SLASH, darkfic)
1. Default Chapter

Something I started recently, it'll be short and probably plotless, but full of metaphors and blood, like most of my work tends to be.

Title: Orchid (1/?)  
Author: Morgan  
Fandom/Original: Harry Potter  
Pairing: Draco / Harry  
Rating: PG-13  
Comments: Not too slashy, not yet at least. It'll get sick later. :D

-

01

-

Draco touched two long, slim fingers delicately to his lips. Drawing them back, into the light, he found blood.

"Fuck."

He brought his fingers back to his lips, moving them gently, smearing the blood across the pink flesh like a crimson gloss, a glittering rouge. The taste was nothing unfamiliar; it was almost comforting, that hot salt on his tongue. It reminded him that Harry Potter still couldn't stand Draco Malfoy, and Ronald Weasley still couldn't stomach a crack about his family's bank statement.

It reminded Draco, in far more unpleasant ways, how much it hurt to have his father's steel-topped cane fly towards him, smash into his cheek, knock a tooth loose and leave a blossoming, blistering welt in it's wake.

He refused to throw up.

The Slytherin boy pulled himself to his feet, specks of quickly-drying blood scattering the floor's white symmetry, and braced himself against a bust of a previous headmaster. The dank smell of the dungeons rose from a darkened stairway behind him, and the cool light of the corridor beat down on him form above, echoing with the trio's retreating footsteps.

Maybe he had deserved it this time; maybe he was fool for starting a fight without Crabbe and Goyle by his side.

Draco stood upright, wobbling only slightly, and straightened his robes, his perfect tie, his slightly askew collar. He brushed back his hair, licked the blood from his lips, swallowed. He smiled.

It was lunch hour, and the boy entered the Grand Hall after most everyone was seated, drawing attention to himself. Preening like a bird, he lifted his chin high and sauntered across the tiled floor, ignoring the glares of three Gryffindors. Draco found his usual seat at the Slytherin table, and sank into it gracefully, fending off the questions of his peers with a dimissive wave of the hand.

Ron watched from the opposite side of the Hall, ears red with fury. Hermione shook her head and returned to her book, absently nibbling on a roll. Harry, however, watched Draco intently, expression unreadable. His wide green eyes followed each of the boy's movements, taking it in, thinking, thinking. Did he ever stop thinking? Only in the air, and even then the ghost of a strategy remained.

Harry jumped when Ron's warm hand fell onto his shoulder, an unexpected weight. "Bloody good hit you landed back there, mate." His redheaded friend grinned crookedly. The freckles on his face swam before Harry's eyes. "I couldn't have done it better myself. Little prick." This last bit was added with a furtive glance over towards the Slytherin table. "It felt good, though, laying my foot up his arse. I hope he feels it for days." Ron laughed, and Harry forced a smile, feeling no glee with his friend. He hated this cycle, this antagonistic ritual he'd shared with Draco Malfoy since day one. Even now, though, in their last few years at Hogwarts, the violence made him sick. It didn't feel right, the endless taunting and hurting of each other, especially with the war drawing so close.

Hermione, it seemed, had finally pulled herself away from the Advanced Arithmancy book. "I'd clean my shoes off later, Ron." She said with the smallest bit of content in her voice. Harry looked away, at his plate, the food swimming on it in a thick gravy. He felt sick.

-

TBC


	2. Part II

The second part of this weird little story.

Title: Orchid (2/?)  
Author: Morgan  
Fandom/Original: Harry Potter  
Pairing: Draco / Harry  
Rating: PG-13  
Comments: Hurrr. Harry's confused, hehe.

-

02

-

Draco stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at his reflection, at himself. The smallest evidence of a cut on his lower lip was barely visible, but still there. Pansy had cornered him after Potions, promising to make it better with a kiss. He shoved her off, perhaps a little too hard; she sat behind him in Charms two periods later, trying her best to hex him with one arm in a sling.

Draco gripped the edges of the sink, knuckles white, and leaned forward, studying himself intently. Still beautiful, still fragile. Why did he feel so... scattered? Disoriented? Like a weight was crushing his lungs, turned to rubble, leaving him unable to breathe, feel his limbs?

Swearing, the Slythern boy pushed away from the other him and walked out into the dorm room, flooded with mid-afternoon light. His bed looked so neat and clean compared to Crabbe and Goyle's, which were unmade and rank with unpleasant substances; and infinitely more refined than Blaise's, where two adult magazines were poorly concealed beneath the pillow, a box of kleenex shoved into the corner. Scowling, the Malfoy heir sat heavily onto the surface of the collective desk, sending stray bits of parchment to the floor. He examined his nails; there was dried blood uderneath them.

Seven corridors, five rooms, and eighteen flights of stairs away, Harry Potter lay on a couch in the Gryffindor common room. People bustled about him, around him, minding their own business, leaving him to his thoughts, eyes staring blankly up at ceiling, witnessing nothing. His clothing was rumpled, and he still had his Transfigurations book clutched tightly in his broad, tan hands, evidence that he'd merely fallen straight onto the plush cushions from class.

Hermione perched on an arm of the couch, staring at him with a question in her eyes. "Harry," she said, finally, "are you going to tell us whats wrong? You've been acting funny all week."

Harry shrugged. He loved Hermione, almost unconditionally, and trusted her beyond belief- but there were some things he couldn't share, not even with her or Ron. (Certaintly not Ron.)

"I think... I may be coming down with something." He murmured, and left it at that. As if the silence that ensued was a signal, Hermione nodded, then upped and left. She'd probably force him to visit Madam Pomfrey later.

-

TBC


End file.
